


Turning Eighteen

by OtakuElf



Series: Biological Clock [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, F/M, First Legal Drink, Gen, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 04:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5770633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtakuElf/pseuds/OtakuElf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Siger turns eighteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning Eighteen

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta-reader, Lunamoth116.

Lalla thought the boy was - not _cute_. He was almost _pretty_. Almost. His red hair was really something, and she didn’t believe it was dyed. Not that she’d ever wanted to dye her own dark hair, with its tightly ringletted curls. The boy’s hair was longish. Not enough to pull back into a tail, but in loose curls that her girlfriends tried to force their straight hair into with product and curling implements. He had model-type cheekbones, high and sharp, and lips that her great-grandmother would have called “bee-stung”. 

Janni, the friend sitting with her at the bar, had a crush on the boy - though she never spoke to him unless she had to. Janni said his mouth was a “cupid’s bow”, and “kissable”. Those lips were slightly chapped, as he had a habit of running his tongue over that lovely bottom lip. 

Close up, Lalla had seen that his eyes were light. It was difficult to tell what colour they were. Was it blue? Green? Grey?

His name was Sig. He was in a seminar with her right now. Public presentations. Sig mostly gave his talks on odd topics. Bits and pieces on DNA identification, the history of facial hair in the political arena, modern dietary deficiencies, or the oxygenation of common components of household items. Which was sort of weird, because he was a music composition major. Anyway, he was in her year at uni, but she thought he was much younger than her twenty-two years. She’d taken her gap year. Of course she had. Spending that year working with children in the refugee camps was rewarding, but she felt so much older after the things she had seen. 

Now Lalla (her father was a _Doctor Who_ fan, and with Lalla Sarah Jane Emerson - she was thankful Mum had talked him out of adding Leela as well. Just imagining "Lalla Leela Sarah Jane" being called on the play ground was terrifying) would be finishing her degree in early childhood development. She was uncertain what to do with it. The world was in such a mess.

Which was why Lalla and Janni were here at the pub of an evening, instead of grinding in their final term. The Running Hart was a student hangout. Noisy, but generally safe. The owner didn’t put up with crazies. The local football team would walk a girl home if it got too late.

Still. Sig was here too, with a couple of friends. “Do you think he’s dating that girl?” Janni hissed into Lalla’s ear. It was the only way to communicate without shouting over the ambient noise of the pub. Because guaranteed, the moment you shouted, there’d come a gap in the noise and your comment would be heard all across the big, wood-paneled room.

Lalla had never seen the friends before. The girl was short, pretty, snub-nosed, and wore wavy brown hair in an updo. Her earrings were a fall of crystal snowflakes that hung down to her chin. The boy next to her had short wavy hair slightly darker, though he was about average height, not tall like Sig. “I think she’s his sister or something,” Lalla told her friend out of the corner of her mouth. There was something about their interaction that didn’t scream “date” to her. 

Siger Hamish Holmes, in his last undergrad term at uni, was examining the golden pint of lager that Em had placed on the sticky café table in front of him.

“It’s just lager, Siger,” Em told him. “It’s not like you’ve never had beer before.” Which was true. His father loved beer, Uncle Greg loved beer; it wasn’t as though he’d never consumed the beverage before. Aside from allowed sips from their parents’ drinks, they’d gotten hold of the illicit substance on a camp holiday and made themselves tipsy.

“Not legal beer, Em.” The ginger-haired boy’s voice was deep, and didn’t match his youthful face.

Danny giggled. He was already on his second pint, since he’d been the one holding the table for their outing. The timbre of their voices was similar, but not exactly the same. Siger’s voice copied both of his fathers - one for depth and texture, and the other for the easy conversational tone. Danny had started copying Siger’s voice when he saw how well the girls paid attention when Siger spoke. The vocabulary and phrasing of each was wholly other. “Those girls over there are watching you, Siger. Don’t disappoint them.”

Without a glance over toward the packed bar, Siger told his cousins offhandedly, “They’re in one of my seminars. Lolly something, and Jen - Jennie. They must have recognized me, but I don’t think they’re watching. At least not watching me.” He lifted the glass calmly and took a healthy sip. 

It was good. A trifle bitter, but Siger could manage this without giving in to his sweet tooth. Grinning up at his companions he said, “There. First drink.”

Coming up behind him, an amused voice said, “It’s not your first drink until you finish the glass, Sig.”

“Oh! Lalla! I didn’t see you come in.” Siger turned to give her the charming grin he had learned from his dad. “Janni! Hi!”

Janni gave a smitten smile. Em and Danny exchanged looks. Siger introduced them all round. “Emma and Daniel, these ladies are Lalla and Janiel. They’re in my seminar. Lalla and Janni, these are my cousins. Sort of.”

“So -” Lalla put her own Black and Tan on the tabletop, clearly joining the party “- it’s your birthday, is it?”

Janni squeezed in between her friend and Daniel. He edged over to make room. “Yeah, my sister and I turned eighteen a couple weeks ago, and now it’s Siger’s turn.” Danny gave the pair of girls the once-over. “I’ll be starting uni next term.” He gave a smile and lifted eyebrow to the two women.

“Are you twins?” Janni asked, taking a look back and forth between the two similar faces.

“Sort of,” Siger said, while Danny answered, “Yes!”

Lalla asked Siger, “What do you mean ‘sort of’ and ‘sort of’ cousins?”

“Oh no,” groaned Emma. She had mastered the art form of eye rolling at an early age.

Siger brightened up from his reserve and leaned forward. “Well, actually, they’re my brother and sister. Two of them, anyway. But they’re also sort of my cousins, because they’re my Uncle Greg’s great-niece and nephew. Which makes them related by marriage as well as by blood.”

“How many siblings do you have?” Lalla leaned toward Siger.

Now it was Danny that groaned. “Wrong question to ask Siger. I always just say one - quick answer. Emma is my twin sister. Even if we weren’t ‘womb mates’.”

Siger’s voice was too deep really for someone his age. He told her, “Sixty-two originally. With me, sixty-three. With my twin sisters, sixty-five. Sixty-one of us are still living. Of those, there are seven that are my full siblings - Emma and Daniel are two of those. All the rest are half-brothers and sisters, as we share a father, but there were sixteen different mothers in total. Except for my twin sisters, who are actually my biological cousins on my mother's side.”

“What? Like some sort of clone army?” Lalla laughed. Her own contralto voice managed a laugh quite nicely.

Janni chimed in, “Or a science experiment?” She had, apparently, given up on Siger and was exchanging smiles with Daniel. Danny was over the moon about an older woman paying attention to him. He liked dating, and was between girlfriends. It wasn’t that Siger had managed to see the last one off, but he’d pointed out a shoplifting habit that Danny was not about to stand for, even if Uncle Greg was not a detective inspector.

Siger wondered if that was an acceptable flirting technique, to compare the object of your interest with mad science. His dad had given him to understand that was a bit not good. Even if Dad did accuse _Père_ of it - Mad Science - all the time. Turning back to Lalla, he observed. She was pretty. Of course he’d noticed her in seminar. Black hair in tight ringlets, lovely brown skin, and dark lively eyes. She was a leader in their discussions, and Siger had learned that she was quite intelligent. Her presentations had not been on her subject area. But then, neither had his. He could hear a musical theme in his head that would do for her. Horns, or a lovely cello. Dark, smooth, and full of flavour. Then he told himself not to talk about his music. Especially not about the opera or the symphonies he had written. That never went well. “Well,” he answered their questions instead, “yeah, it was some sort of science experiment. Not by the government though.” He had promised Uncle Mycroft that he would never blame His Majesty’s government for it all. Her Majesty’s at the time, he guessed. Best not to tell them the plan was to build an army of assassins. He, Em, and Danny had played that often enough after _père_ had told them about that, dragging Ross and Miri and Joy and Will along with them. Even though none of them were part of the experiment.

Lalla drank some of her beer. “Pretty farfetched, isn’t that?” She softened that comment with a flirty smile.

Danny had leaned toward Janni and was saying something about "We're designer babies." It was a ploy that he'd used successfully for picking up girls in the past.

Emma gave an internal groan. Just the thought that they owed their existence to a crazy man and corporate greed. She was more than that. Also, fifth wheel. Again. Girls were always flirting with the boys. Even Will, who was still a kid. And yet Siger and Danny were enormously protective of her, of Ross, of Miri and Joy. Still, that gave her time to people watch. Uncle Mycroft had taught her to infer and deduce. She and Siger were competitors, with either Uncle Mycroft or Uncle Sherlock as judge. 

The women here at the bar as patrons were, for the most part, boring. Self-absorbed, and on the prowl for casual sex. Most of the men were of little interest to Emma. They were handsome enough. Emma was short, with light brown hair, and extremely feminine, but with an understanding that she was not even slightly interested in a one-night stand. A frowzy blonde in the corner caught Emma’s eye. Wig. A good one. Padding to create an overweight effect. Deliberately dowdy clothing. The blonde lifted her head from the glass of zinfandel before her and winked at Emma. Oh. Uncle Sherlock. 

Emma knew that Sherlock was her biological father. But to her there would never be any real father except for the man who raised her. Jonathan Pritchard was her Dad. And Evelyn Camford Pritchard was her Mum. She didn’t think that Uncle Sherlock thought of her as a daughter, but he had always treated her like an adult, which was gratifying. 

Emma corrected her thought. Uncle Sherlock treated her better than he treated most adults. They were idiots, he’d told them when they’d become teenagers, but then people were. Before that he’d been enormously patient with most things. Not as much fun as her dad, Uncle Greg, or Uncle John, or any of her other family, but mostly patient.

Looking around her table now she realized that Danny had finished his second pint, Siger was examining his empty glass, and the two girls were ordering another round. “Just one more for me, thanks.” Emma gave them all a smile.

Daniel Pritchard could hear Siger explaining to the girl next to him that the best way to prevent incest was for them to date only people who were older, born at least two years older than themselves, since there were so many in their bloodline. Siger’s dad had been adamant about the _older_ part. His friend - brother, cousin, whatever - was speaking completely differently now that he’d consumed his first glass. Longer words, improved vocabulary - a lot like how Siger and his sisters talked at home, not the colloquial English that regular people spoke. 

Danny smirked at the thought of Siger getting tipsy on his first glass of beer on his first night out at the pub with them. Of course, he had gotten thoroughly plastered on his own first visit to the pub with his mates, and he was fully planning on slowing down on his intake now. So, when Janni asked about another round, he’d echoed his sister: “Just one more, I think, love.”

Janni tilted her head, and nodded at Lalla, who went off to order a round for them all. She didn’t quite sigh at the realization that Sig only had eyes for her good friend. Too bad, that. Still, his cousin didn’t seem too bad, if a tad young. Even if they were apparently both the same age. 

Neither of the cousins, Janni reminded herself. Best not to shut the girl out. Janni had been there, fifth wheel, ignored by everyone else. After all, eighteen was young for Janni to be interested, but she could be friendly. “So, what do you two plan on studying at uni?” she asked.

Sherlock Holmes frowned at the awful taste of the pub’s cloyingly sweet zin. It had made sense that he would take on monitoring Siger’s first night out as a legal adult. John had told him not to. Jonathan and Evelyn had laughed at his offer for the twins’ first night out. “Sherlock,” Dolores, the twins’ grandmother, had told him, “you really need to relax.”

Difficult to relax when Sherlock knew so very well what could happen in a pub, late at night. Though he had gotten in trouble in pubs at all times of the day. He wasn’t concerned about the ride home - Mycroft would see to their cabbie. It was other predators that had Sherlock’s concern. Of the three of them, only Emma had noticed his presence. The two women who had joined the table - Siger knew them, obviously - were students. One had an exuberant small dog. Neither of them were showing signs of illicit substances, or the habit of taking such. Siger knew what to look for. John had made certain their son knew how to avoid anything slipped into his drink. Sherlock had provided a trip to the mortuary to drive home the effects of drugs upon the human body. Molly had been extremely helpful there.

Sherlock felt the mobile in his pocket vibrate - John, surely. Pulling the mobile from his dress, the cross-dressing detective read: _Sherlock, come home. Also, in order to extract isobutyric acid from a solution of diethyl ether, what should one wash the solution with?_

Ah. Miranda’s organic chemistry homework. Perhaps he was needed more at home? Sherlock signaled to the server; he was flunking out of his core subject, but had discovered an interest in art. No, in theater. Paying his tab, Sherlock swayed his way past the table of cheerful children. Emma raised a hand to brush back her hair in disguised farewell before returning to the general conversation. Sherlock would have to trust she’d watch out for her brothers, as they watched out for her.

Siger, suddenly stretching his long, skinny arms in an obviously false yawn, gave his father a pat on the hip as the older, blonde woman sashayed past. He hoped his Dad would get a photo. He could examine it later on to see if he could improve the disguise for his father.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah the joys of one's first legal drink.


End file.
